


At least Tim has a couch to offer

by TheDisco



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: M/M, insult you then kiss you aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDisco/pseuds/TheDisco
Summary: She was barely out of the room when Dally said, “Y'know… You almost don't look so fuckin' ugly right now.”“The black eye must help,” Tim grinned. He leaned his shoulder on the wall, looking all too smug and pleased with himself. Dally wanted to slap it off his face. “Shit, didn't you get done in good- and you come runnin' back here, too? You're goin' soft, Dal.”“Look, m' gonna be straight with you, Shepard; I feel like I'm gonna hurl an' pass out. I don’t wanna… Do this right now.” “Guess you wanna crash here, huh?”





	

The severity of the situation only hit Dally when he realized that the Curtis place was at least half a mile away, Buck's place was even farther, and he couldn't remember where he parked his car. Actually, he couldn't remember much of anything; the last thing to come to mind was him heading to a party with Sylvia and being handed a bottle of tequila. Vaguely, he could remember throwing a fit about something and going for a smoke. He had yet to get his smoke, and had instead started wandering aimlessly.

With these thoughts in mind, his plan of wandering aimlessly suddenly didn't seem so bright. Even worst than that, they were starting to sober him up.

On the plus side, at least he recognized the neighbourhood. But on the downside, he was heading straight for Tim Shepard's place.

Gingerly, Dally reached up and touched his face. After wincing and pulling back, with blood on his fingers, he decided that maybe, just for tonight, he would sacrifice his pride in favour of making it home alive. No matter what Tim or Curly had to say, he supposed it was better than being cold on the sidewalk. More or less, anyway.

Dally staggered as he started crossing the Shepard lawn; it was difficult making it that far, because with each passing moment it was getting harder to ignore the sharp pains in his ribs. It took every ounce of energy Dally had not to pass out on the lawn. Instead, he powered through and made his way up to the porch, where he leaned heavily on the railing and pounded the door with his fist.

Breathing raggedly, he let his eyes cross. God, he felt like he was dying.

After a long second, the door creaked open a few inches. Angela peaked through, squinting, then went to slam it shut.

Dally seized it and tore it open almost violently; the force sent Angela reeling back to avoid it.

“Not tonight,” Dally grumbled.

Angela just rolled her eyes. Her long black hair was up in a messy high ponytail and she wore an oversized t-shirt.

“Awfully late to be pickin' fights,” She commented, crossing her arms.

She was shorter than Dally by a longshot and snappy.; it was the Shepard in her, Dally figured. Because of such, she got annoying real quick.

“How come every time I come 'round here, you idiots think I'm pickin' fights?”

“I never said it was with us, I mean the one you've already lost. Unless you bashed your head on the concrete by yourself, which I can see you doing, too.”

“ _Je_ -sus _Christ_.” Dally's head was pounding now, on top of everything else. Maybe he was better off dead after all.

From deeper inside the house, Tim hollered out, “Angela! Who the hell're you talkin' to?” To which Angela yelled back with, “A dumbass!”

Shortly following the exchange, Tim's unnecessarily heavy footsteps rang out. He pounded his way down the hallway and appeared looking equally caught off guard as Angela did. He was fumbling with the fly on his pants as he stepped up, but Dally held back on commenting. Just this once.

Tim looked Dally up and down, and a shit eating grin took his lips. Dally looked him dead in the eye, although his vision was, admittedly, a little blurry.

Neither of them said anything. Feeling bored with the exchange, Angela excused herself with a hair flip and snide comment.

She was barely out of the room when Dally said, “Y'know… You almost don't look so fuckin' ugly right now.”

“The black eye must help,” Tim grinned. He leaned his shoulder on the wall, looking all too smug and pleased with himself. Dally wanted to slap it off his face. “Shit, didn't you get done in good- and you come runnin' back here, too? You're goin' soft, Dal.”

“Look, m' gonna be straight with you, Shepard; I feel like I'm gonna hurl an' pass out. I don’t wanna… Do this right now.”

“Guess you wanna crash here, huh?”

Dally gave the weakest, most crooked smile he could manage. Tim took that as answer enough.

He offered his shoulder and almost immediately Dally folded in on himself; he leaned some of his weight on the other, breathing out heavily. Tim merely grunted and helped him towards the living room. The TV played static softly and Curly snored over it from the loveseat. He was curled up on it with thin blanket thrown across his back. Tim ignored him in favour of dumping Dally on the couch, who groaned loudly.

Dally clutched his side, hissing a curse under his breath. Tim went about his business and fished a pillow from a closet next to the TV.

“So tell me 'bout it,” He said, throwing the pillow to Dally.

“Don’t remember now.” Dally admitted, grunting as he caught the pillow.

“What the Christ were you drinkin’ out there? Moonshine?” Tim settled down on the end of the couch, elbow propped on the arm. Dally lifted his legs and put them across Tim’s lap. “The blood ain’t even dry on your face, an’ you don’t remember jack all?”

“Probably won’t even ‘member this,” Dally mumbled, tossing the pillow behind his head. He stretched out his legs, groaning quietly. “That bitch Sylvia… She wanted t’ go t’ some… Pit party, at the junk yard, or whatever… My ribs fuckin’ hurt like a goddamn bitch.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said suddenly.

He put his hand through his hair and tilted his head back. Dally perked up just enough to watch him, brows furrowing in silent question; he hadn’t noticed until now that Tim didn’t have his hair slick with grease. It was damp, and fell to the sides as his hand dropped.

“Dallas Winston, you’re the dumbest hood alive.”

Dally sat up a little, defensively. “Watch it, Timothy.”

“Don’t you know who hangs ‘round the junk yard? Tommy goddamn Lockett and his gang.”

“…Who the fuck’s that?”

“Sock-it Lockett? Come on, Dallas- you hustle him at Buck’s all the time. How drunk are ya?”

Dally kept looking at Tim in confusion for a long minute, before leaning back and closing his eyes. “…Oh. That guy.”

“He hates your guts,” Tim added. He squeezed Dally’s leg, then patted it. The bottoms of his jeans were caked with mud. “If I had to guess, I bet he socked you real good jus’ cause he could. Probably took a pipe to your ribs. Seen it happen before; he almost broke Curly’s knee that way before.”

Dally opted for silence. He slung his arm across his face, whistling a little as he breathed out. Tim sat there in the comfortable quiet for a few moments, then squeezed Dally’s leg again, before moving them to the side and getting up. He carefully adjusted him fully back on the couch again afterwards.

Dally moved his arm to look at him. He pursed his lips, then opened them to say something. Quickly, he shut his mouth again. Tim cocked his brow and gave a small smirk.

“If you end up hurling, you’re cleanin’ it up.” Tim paused for a second, then brushed his hair back again. “…I’ll go an’ give Lockett a beat-down tomorrow. See how he likes fighting a sober hood.”

Dally half smiled to this. His eyelids were drooping a bit and his whole body felt as if it weighed a ton, yet he still managed to reach out and grab Tim by the wrist. “I don’t need you… Fightin’ my battles… But, listen, man… Thanks… For this.”

Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t mention it. T’anyone. Don’t want people thinkin’ I actually like your ugly mug.”

Dally’s half-smile turned into a lopsided grin. He tugged down on Tim’s wrist, muttering a “c’mere”, before pulling the latter into a kiss; Tim had no objections, and kissed him back. He even braced a hand on the couch to lean in more. When Dally wrapped both his arms around his neck, he got his knee up on the couch, almost climbing on top of Dally completely with a groan.

Then, from the loveseat, Curly grumbled, voice riddled with sleep, “Get a room, jackasses.”

The two broke apart to look over. Tim wrinkled his nose and slid off the couch.

“Watch your fuckin’ profanity, kid.” He then turned to Dally and playfully shoved his head back down into the pillow. “Night, blondie.”

“Come back out an’ see me… When the kid’s asleep.” Dally grinned lazily. He had completely closed his eyes now.

Curly groaned and Tim chuckled.

“Lordy me… How can I say no?”


End file.
